A Chance
by AzaryaTsuki
Summary: Being a man out of time, thinking about the past seemed to be the only thing he could do, no matter how recent that past may be.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hi guys! I was given a prompt to begin a story with "There was once a chance I didn't take…" and this is what I came up with! Hope ya like it!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

. . . . . .

_There was once a chance I didn't take… and now I wish I could go back and take it,_ thought Steve as he sat in his darkened apartment, looking at the piece of paper in his hand sadly.

Being a man out of time, thinking about the past seemed to be the only thing he could do, no matter how recent that past may be. The chance that haunted him now was when Tony had opened his eyes after falling from another dimension. At the time, he had wanted nothing more than to take the reckless genius/billionaire/playboy/philanthropist into his arms and kiss him for all he was worth in relief.

The only thing that had stopped him was Tony's demand of, "Please tell me nobody kissed me." Those words had stopped the soldier in his tracks and snapped his mind to reality. He had briefly played with the idea of doing it anyway, but he just could not bring himself to do it, to confess his feelings for the other man. Steve could only sink back on his heels and smile his relief instead. That had been enough for him back then, but now he had wished he had taken that chance.

After the threat of Loki -and his alien army- had passed, the Avengers had gone their separate ways to live their own lives until they were needed again. Thing is, Steve's 'life' existed over seventy years ago. While his teammates were probably out with friends on a Saturday night, or on a job in Clint and Natasha's case, Steve could only sit in his lonely apartment and remember the friends he had had before he crashed into the ice. Bucky, Peggy, Stark…

The supersoldier shook his head sharply from side to side. When in the world had he taken to self-pity? He was Captain America! The Star Spangled Man with a Plan! Steve Rogers _did not_ wallow in the dimness of his apartment! Most importantly, he _would not_ let something like this get the best of him! Throwing down the slip of gold embroidered paper, Steve strode over to his door and yanked his old leather jacket over his shoulders. He did not give himself the chance to turn back, surrounded by his own feelings and memories, and left his apartment.

The roar of his motorcycle was soothing as he cruised through the streets of Brooklyn. He found himself reminiscing about how the city used to look and tore his mind away from the thoughts violently. The reason he had decided to go for a ride was to escape his memories, but they seemed to follow him like a shadow. For the first time since he had lost Bucky, Steve wished he was able to get drunk.

_Now, there's a chance I took,_ he thought bitterly. Because of the procedure that most expected to kill him, he was as close to invincible as a human could be. That included a higher metabolism and healing rate; ergo alcohol had no effect on him. Even if he did have friends that he could go out with, he would not be able to enjoy the sense of irresponsibility and recklessness that came with the buzz of drinking. Now, the only thing that comes close is the rush of adrenaline from fighting.

Almost without noticing, Steve found himself pulling into one of the rare parking spaces in the city and made his way into a bar. Even if he could no longer get lost in the bottom of a bottle, that did not mean he could not try. He glanced around out of habit to take note of the people in the small establishment. A couple was in a darkened corner, sneaking gropes and sloppy kisses when they thought no one was looking; a loud table at the other side of the room was hosting a rather heated card game; and there were the lonely singles sitting right at the bar where he was headed.

"What's your poison?" the bartender asked, picking up a glass to wipe off invisible stains.

"Whatever has the highest alcohol content," he replied, slipping onto the barstool awkwardly. It had been a while since he had been to a bar… nothing short of 70 years, to be exact.

After what seemed like forever, a tall glass of amber liquid was placed in front of him at last. He had no idea what was in it or how much it was going to cost, but he did not care. All that mattered to him at that moment was forgetting everything. Foregoing the straw altogether, Steve put the glass to his lips and swallowed mouthful after mouthful of the drink, setting fire to his throat and belly before being quickly extinguished by his serum enhanced body. Putting the empty glass back onto the counter, he looked at the completely astonished faces of the bartender and his customers. Smiling ever so bitterly to himself, Steve asked, "Another, please?"

The balding man behind the counter just continued to stare at him with his mouth agape. Apparently that had not been the normal thing to do. Steve cleared his throat and the bartender snapped to attention, busying himself with making the soldier another drink. This continued until Steve had drained his fifth glass and he had a gathering crowd of onlookers. A few stragglers from the card table had waddled over to place bets on how long it would take Steve to puke his guts up.

The supersoldier felt no inclination to tell them that other than the two second burn in his throat, he might as well have been drinking water for all the drunk it was making him. Then, he got an idea for a little bit of fun. Even if he was incapable of getting drunk, he could at least act like it to give these people a little bit of entertainment. It would also serve as a small distraction for himself to get lost in his own acting.

He suddenly stood up and swayed drunkenly, people scrambling backwards out of the large man's way. Steve fake-stumbled his way over to the digital jukebox and put some change into the machine. "Ya know," he slurred to no one in particular, knowing his audience would be listening. "We need ta get some _real_ music playin' in here…"

Selecting a song that he actually recognized from way back when –he was honestly surprised he even found it- Steve began to sway in time with the song and snap his fingers with the beat. He never had been one for dancing, but that was mainly because he was nervous and uncoordinated when he was with someone else. He was feeling none of that in this room full of strangers. Steve just needed to forget.

As the song got more and more upbeat, Steve upped his own tempo with moving his feet and gesturing with his arms. After seeing a few street dancers, he decided to throw in a couple of stylish fighting moves to awe the crowd. A few people actually did 'ooh' and 'ahh' at the supposedly drunk man's ability to dance. The need to get lost in the moment was slowly being fulfilled as he moved and concentrated on his tricks. Just as the song was ending, the door to the bar was slammed open by a burly man flanked by two other thugs that reeked of trouble.

All three men stormed up to the bar and loudly demanded their drinks from the suddenly anxious looking bartender. Feeling the atmosphere in the room change completely, Steve went back to his stool on the end of the bar to wait for the man to get done serving the brutish men's drinks. When he finally made his way down to Steve, he seemed much more timid than he was before.

"Who are they?" Steve asked quietly.

"Oh, they're nobody… another drink, sir?" he replied.

Steve ignored the question and repeated his own more firmly, the need to help kicking in his determination. "Who are they? You recognized them the second they walked in here."

The bartender sighed in barely masked defeat. "They're just a few hooligans that I have to put up with almost every night. Normally they're just loud and obnoxious, but one time things got physical with another customer." The old man paused uncertainly, taking an anzious glance over at the trio in question.

"It's all right," the Captain assured. "What happened next?"

"After I broke up the fight and asked them to leave, they trashed my bar instead. Told me to 'mind my own business.' But, I couldn't just stand there and let them destroy everything and I tried to stop them. One hit and I was down on the ground," he said bitterly. "Said that if I even thought of calling the police, they'd be back and make me pay. Since then, there hasn't been anything else goin' on with them."

Steve glanced back at the men and saw the leader grabbing a woman's behind. She looked very uncomfortable and politely asked him to leave her alone. That just made him laugh and scoot closer to her. The bartender looked equally uncomfortable, but did not say a word lest he provoke the thugs into trashing his place again or hurting the woman. When the woman reiterated her pleas to be left alone, Steve could not sit there anymore.

He calmly strode over to the group and said, "I don't think the lady wants to be touched." She looked at him with a half-frightened hope.

"Mind your own fucking business before this gets ugly," the thug snarled, possessively grabbing the woman by the waist and making her squeak indignantly. He put a hand to his hip and discreetly pushed aside his jacket to reveal the butt of a hand gun.

. . . . . .

A/N: I know it's not as long as my usual writing, but I've hit a bit of a wall and want your guys' opinions on if I should continue this or not... Let me know and I'll see what I can do!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Aaannd here's the final chapter! Really short fic, I know. Like I said, it's from a prompt. Look at it this way though! I'm actually capable of finishing a fic! For those who have read Unexpected, I seriously apologize for the delay in updating. My co-writer and I have been busy and stressed with trying to find work(me) and schooling(her). Just know that the next chapter is almost done and just needs a few tweaks before I post it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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_Damn it,_ Steve thought, staring at the gun attached to the thug's waistband. _There are too many people here for a fight._ He calculated any possible situation, violent or otherwise, should the man actually draw his weapon. Glancing at the bar, Steve got an idea.

"How about we make a little wager?" he asked smoothly. When the thug's eyes gleamed with interest, he continued, "If I can drink more than you and both of your buddies, you leave the girl and this place alone."

"And if you lose?" the brute spat.

"If I lose, then I'll walk away and leave you to your business." Steve silently thanked God that any pictures taken of him were in uniform with his mask, ensuring that no one recognized him.

The other man smirked deviously and chuckled low in his chest. "You've got yourself a deal. Joe, you go first," he called over his shoulder.

Joe, the biggest of the trio, stepped up to the bar and grinned maliciously at Steve. They were equal in height, but the Captain was more muscular. "Get us two bottles of Bicardi 151 and three shot glasses," he ordered the still frightened man behind the counter. Pulling out a coin from his pocket, Joe slapped it onto the counter declaring, "First to miss three times loses. Drink every time the coin goes into the shot glass."

The Captain nodded his head seriously. This was going to be all too easy. The bottles of liquor were unscrewed and Joe went first, lining up the coin with the shot glass and bouncing it on the counter to land in the empty container. Steve tipped the bottle into his glass and shot it back, the burn lasting longer than before, most likely because it was straight liquor instead of whatever mixed drink the bartender had whipped up for him before.

Then, it was Steve's turn to make the coin go into the small container. Mimicking Joe's movements, Steve lined up the coin with his target and flicked his wrist to bounce it home. It hit the counter… and missed. _One._ The coin rebounded off of the edge of the glass and clattered onto the countertop. Steve had tossed it too hard. Next time, he would have to keep his strength in check. Next time, he would not miss.

The coin clinked into the glass again and both men drank their respective shots, Joe drank his with a haughty expression because of Steve's first miss. Once again, it was Captain's turn and he lined up the shot perfectly, measuring his strength before letting the small circle of metal hit the counter… only to have it fall short and bounce off the side of the glass. _Two._

"Heh, this is gonna be a quick game, eh fellas? Might as well make ourselves comfortable," said the leader of the hooligans. He greedily scooped the woman closer to him and began nuzzling her neck noisily.

Steve had to grit his teeth to keep himself from swatting the disgusting man across the room. He took a deep breath to cool his head and took his turn, watching in triumph as it finally tinkled around the glass. Carefully keeping the grin from his face, he and Joe took the shots.

The game began in earnest, now that the Captain had figured out exactly how much strength to use. Supersoldier muscle control helped things along a bit. More shots were taken and when they were finally on the twelfth shot, Joe missed his first toss. He looked mildly irritated and grudgingly slid the coin across the counter. It took him a moment to be able to sit up straight again, the alcohol taking its toll on Joe's body. He swayed back and forth to gain his balance and blinked rapidly. Steve could only imagine the kind of effect the Bicardi was having on the other male since it was not around when he was able to become inebriated.

Steve made his shot and poured his drink calmly. They were nearly down to half a bottle and the leader of the troublesome trio was looking annoyed that Steve was showing no signs of having drank that much, while his lackey missed his glass and poured the liquor onto the bar top. Steve slowly reached over and guided the man's hand over the little shot glass and poured it for him. He felt mildly guilty for getting a man this drunk and making him drink more, but at least if he could drink these guys under the table, they would be unable to make trouble elsewhere for the night.

Joe shot again and missed for the second time. He looked at the small container incredulously; most likely trying to figure out which one he was seeing was the real one. _That's enough,_ Steve thought, and he voiced his opinion.

"No, I ain' lost yet," Joe slurred. "Boss, 'f I do lose, Mark shure make it does better." He stopped for a moment and concentrated on what he said. "Make sure Mark does better," he corrected slowly.

"Damn right, I will," replied 'Boss' venomously. "Useless pile of shit! Can't even get through half a bottle of 151 without swayin' around." He swatted at the back of Joe's head and made him stumble drunkenly out of his seat and fall to the floor in a heap. Apparently, he was drunker than he had let on.

Not even pausing to glare at the Boss, Steve got down from his barstool and knelt down to help the drunken man to his feet. "You don't have to keep going," he whispered. "You can just walk away before things get worse."

"Gerroff!" Joe spat, ripping his arm from the Captain's grip. He stumbled a few steps to the bar and grabbed the coin again. "I can do this," he said. His tone was solemn and slightly panicked. What was he afraid of if he lost? Steve glanced at Joe's boss again and remembered the gun on his hip. The gun that he would not allow to be used if he could help it.

Steve weighed his options. If he let Joe lose, he risked possibly endangering Joe himself. If he lost intentionally, he would have to leave the bar at the mercy of the two remaining men. _Unless…_ Steve thought, calculating odds and the amount of time he would have. Nodding his head, the soldier made up his mind.

He quickly strode over to the bar and pretended to stumble as he took his seat. Steve clamped a hand on Joe's wrist, stopping the bounce he was about to toss. "'Ts m' turn," Steve slurred. He made eye contact with the disoriented man and squeezed the wrist reassuringly, giving a small smile. Joe must have understood the gesture, because he gave an almost relieved smile of his own and put the coin back onto the counter.

Steve picked up the coin and took one more look into the other man's eyes and flicked his wrist. The clink of metal against glass was almost palpable as the coin bounced off the rim of the shot glass to land on the counter and roll to the floor. Steve only shared Joe's look of surprise for a moment before he stood to leave.

The Boss's face was pure triumph as he cheered and groped the woman in his arms for the umpteenth time. She looked dismayed and disappointed that her savior had let her down. The bartender had a similar expression on his features as Steve turned from the bar. His face turned confused when he caught the wink the tall man gave him. Stepping out of sight from the curious gazes of the other customers, Steve could hear the raucous laughter of the two troublemakers behind him.

The street was busy as usual for this time of night as he left the bar. Steve looked for the nearest street sign and quickly pulled out the small rectangle of plastic that everyone insisted he carry to dial three numbers. "_911, what is your emergency?_"

. . . . . .

Steve waited while the police officers showed up and he calmly explained the situation inside.

"Thank you, Mr. Rogers. We've actually had several complaints about this particular bunch. Now that we know one is carrying a weapon, it gives us a reason to take them in," one of them said. The other just stood lazily by the car, smoking a cigarette.

"Not a problem," Steve replied with a long learned respect for authority. "Just be careful. I don't know how much more they've had to drink since I stepped out."

"You can leave things to us, sir." He nodded to emphasize his point. Both officers went in without a second glance at Steve.

Curiosity and worry got the better of him, making the supersoldier wait by his bike for the officers to come back out with their quarry. He jumped slightly when he heard raised voices and glass clattering around, but he smoothed his expression when he saw the three men being led to the police cruiser. Satisfied only when the door closed on the yelled curses flying from within, Steve kicked his motorcycle to life and headed home, replaying his adventure in his head as he drove and feeling the rewarding sensation of a good deed done.

Steve stepped into his apartment and tossed his coat onto the old fashioned couch, ready to just take a shower and go to bed. Just as he passed through the kitchen to get to the bathroom, a glint of gold caught his attention and reminded him of the reason he needed to get out.

Picking up the small piece of paper, Steve read the lines again, feeling the sting of regret as vividly as the first time he read them. The words swam in his mind as he placed the invitation back onto the table and turned his back on it, opting for sleep instead of the shower. Steve stripped down to his boxers and climbed under the sheets of his bed slowly, mulling over the past as he so often did. He fell asleep to the sound of the horns honking in the street, the sound of his own upbringing, with the image of those damned words imprinted behind his eyelids:

_We would like to cordially invite you to the wedding ceremonies of:_

_Anthony Stark & Pepper Potts_

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A/N: Well, there ya have it. Go ahead and tell me what you think!


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